Brothers Apart
by Owl344
Summary: Once, Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Wealey were best friends. Brothers, even...


Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy

**Disclaimer: Don't own this. Never will. **

Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy.

They were best friends once; brothers, really, just like their fathers before them. In fact, their fathers had even named Arthur and Lucius after each other: Luke Weasley and Arcturus Malfoy.

It was true, certainly, that one family was rich, and the other poor; that one family was pure-blooded, and the other "blood-traitors", but in the days before Voldemort, few people truly cared about such things. It was a hobby, something to have a friendly argument over; to break up a friendship over such a thing seemed ridiculous.

Then they went to Hogwarts.

At first, it was a bit awkward, for Lucius had been sorted into Slytherin and Arthur into Gryffindor, but they soon got used to it. They were still the best of friends, still brothers—they laughed at the idea that such a friendship could disintegrate.

Then came Voldemort.

On the surface, nothing seemed to have changed. But the arguments grew more heated and more frequent, and things that had seemed silly before were now held dear.

Once Lucius took the Mark, the split was inevitable. There was no way they could live together after Hogwarts now, as they had planned to; they each went their separate ways, following two different leaders on two different sides of a war.

And they tried to forget the man they had known as a brother, and they tried to think of each other by last name only.

BreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreak

Lucius Malfoy looked down at his infant son. _Arcturus_, he thought, _is definitely the name for him. After my father._

But the name stirred memories of a time he had tried to forget, of a time when the Malfoys had been brothers to the Weasleys…

_Not Arcturus, then. Perhaps as a middle name. But he does require a first one…I have heard that one of Arth—_Weasley's_ brats is dragon-mad. Perhaps Draco? It is a fitting name, and Weasley need never know. Draco it is, then. It costs me nothing—and perhaps my memories will leave me in peace…_

BreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreak

Arthur Weasley looked down at his infant son. _Bill,_ he thought,_ is a good name. An earthy name. It suits him—Weasleys are _meant _to have earthy names. I think my name's the fanciest yet. There was my grandfather Fred, and my dad Luke…_

But thinking of his father made him remember a time when Luke was alive, and when he and Arcturus Malfoy had been the best of friends…

_Well…Luc—_Malfoy _always liked fancy names. I could call him William. No one will know—not even Molly. Certainly Malfoy won't. And I imagine most people will still call him Bill…It's settled, then. William it is. Well—assuming Molly agrees with me, anyways._

_BreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreak_

As Draco grew older, Lucius found himself writing letters to Arthur. He couldn't help it—they soothed him, helped him to relax. He wrote as if Arthur had joined the Dark Lord's service.

He never actually _mailed_ the letters, of course. That would be unthinkable.

But he kept them, bound in a package and sealed where no one could find them.

BreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreak

As Arthur watched Bill grow older, and watched his other children go through the same process, he found himself writing to Lucius. Not Malfoy as he was now—but Lucius, as he had been before, as he might have been if only he'd followed Dumbledore…

But it was too late now for regrets. Lucius would never follow Dumbledore, and Arthur would never follow Voldemort—conflicts that had proved to deep to work out.

He didn't mail them. He was tempted to, but he knew that Lucius would reject them. Besides, there was information in there about the Light Side that Malfoy shouldn't have.

BreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreak

It was the final battle, and for most, it was impossible to tell friend from foe, Death Eater to Order Member…

In the middle of the field, Voldemort and Harry fought their last climactic battle, but elsewhere, there was only chaos.

By some odd chance, Lucius was close to Arthur when he fell. Lucius had killed hundreds, had raped and tortured muggles, and had liked it; he had found it for the greater good. He'd known that all the Order members had to die. Intellectually, he'd known this included Arthur. But faced with the fact of Arthur's near-dead body…

He let loose a howl of rage and pain as the years of friendship—of _brotherhood_—finally came back with a vengeance. The memories he had tried to repress were pounding in his skull, demanding justice, demanding _revenge_ for the man he'd once called brother.

With a snarl of rage, he turned on the Death Eater that had felled his brother. He lost count of how many curses he cast, and what they were; he just knew that the Death Eater had to _suffer_ for what he'd done, had to _die _for killing Arthur…

In his angered pain, he let his guard drop. An Order Member spotted the opening and felled him with a well-placed _Diffindo!_ He dropped like an anchor onto the ground, next to Arthur, who had been hit with the same curse.

Arthur was still living, but only just. He had seconds left to live. Apparently, he wished to say something. With his last strength, Lucius dragged himself nearer to Arthur.

"Yes?" he whispered hoarsely.

Arthur smiled up at him—a wistful smile, filled with painful could-have-beens… With his last breath, he whispered, "I knew you'd come through for me, my brother."

He died, and Lucius cried for his death.

A few moments later, he noticed that he felt weaker than ever. He couldn't even raise the energy to glance down at his blood. In a strange way, he was glad of death…the final release.

BreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreakBreak

When the final battle was over, and the bodies were identified, Lucius and Arthur were found in each other's arms.

**A/N: Yes, I'm well aware that this is hardly a literary masterpiece. However, I ask that you give me a bit of leeway, as this was written at around twelve o'clock. At night. I will probably be re-writing, thought nothing is guaranteed. Also, know this: any bad grammar, such as sentence fragments, is intensional.**


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